I Need, I Am, I Want
by Obsidian Skin
Summary: ...Or 3 times Peter went to Tony when something was wrong. IronDad Bingo!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Trying my hand at IronDad Bingo with my own twist! I'll be doing a bingo trope along with a Need, Want, or something Peter Is (hence the title). Let me know what you think!

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing! I make no profit off of this. This is solely for my enjoyment and hopefully for the enjoyment of others! ;)

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**Trope: Bullying**

I Need a Hug

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**_Monday_**

"Who was the inventor of the microscope and also discovered the bacteria in water?"

Peter reached out and tapped the small silver bell sitting on the library table. MJ's eyes flicked up from the card she had been reading. "Peter?"

"Anton van Leeuwenhoek," he answered confidently, folding his hands on the tabletop. MJ nodded her approval before turning her attention back to the card.

"What is the name of the virus used in the first vaccine?"

It was Cindy who rung the bell this time. "Vaccina virus," she said in her no-nonsense way of speaking.

"Good. Name for resistant pathogens that are no longer affected by normal treatment?"

_Ding!_

"Ned?"

"Superbugs."

Flash snorted from his spot across the table from Peter. "Like Spider-Man," he muttered. Peter quirked an eyebrow but didn't say anything. The other boy hadn't contributed to decathlon practice in any way whatsoever other than to make snarky comments whenever something struck his fancy. He had plopped himself down in his chair and had been scrolling through social media the entirety of the hour and half that MJ had been dishing out questions.

"I wonder if that's how he got his powers," Flash continued to muse. Peter rolled his eyes and shared a quick knowing glance with Ned across the table

"Flash, why's your phone still out?" MJ frowned. "You know the rules: no phones during practice. I'm not going to tell you again."

"Ugh c'mon, we've been at this for, like, twelve hours," he whined, but shut off his phone none the less. Even Flash knew better than to incur the wrath of MJ. "I've got places to go, people to see."

Abe laughed at pointed at Flash. "Who're are you going to see, Flash? Your girlfriend?"

"As a matter of fact–"

"You don't have a girlfriend!" Abe accused, laughing harder.

"Alright guys, it is getting kind of late," MJ conceded, returning her card to the pile of others on the table. "We'll pick this back up on Wednesday. Good work today, guys."

Peter quickly stuffed his arms into his jacket and grabbed his umbrella off the floor. Queens was currently being buried under a torrential downpour that had started a week ago and wasn't predicted to let up any time soon. It was the kind of rain that came with 15 mph winds that blew the rain right under your umbrella and up your nose. The kind of rain whose raindrops made it their personal mission to attack your face and splash right in your eyes so you couldn't see where you were going. The kind of rain that seemed to soak more than just your clothes or your hair; it cut right to the bone and left your cold for hours.

Peter hated that kind of rain.

"You going out tonight?" Ned asked, falling into step with him as they exited the library. Peter hoisted his backpack higher on his shoulder as they made their way through the mostly empty hallways of Midtown Tech.

"Yeah, probably for a little bit at least," he said as he pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. He quickly tapped out a one handed message to May letting her know that practice was over and that he was on his way home before sliding his phone back in his pocket. "I need to make sure I have time to study for Mrs. Warren's test on Wednesday and since I've got the internship with Mr. Stark tomorrow, tonight's going to be my best bet."

Ned nodded along as Peter talked, fiddling with the velcro on his umbrella. "That makes sense. Have you–"

"Oh my god, Parker, when are you going to give up on that lie?"

Both Peter and Ned's heads whipped around at the sudden drawl of Flash behind them. He was swaggering along the hallway with his hands shoved in his pockets, looking, as per usual, like he owned the place.

"Everyone knows that internship doesn't exist."

Peter shook his head and faced forward, refusing to give the guy the satisfaction of a response.

"You're just making yourself look like such an idiot," Flash continued.

Peter's hand clenched around his umbrella. He so wasn't in the mood to deal with this today.

"Of course, you did that already before you claimed you had in internship with Tony Stark."

Ned's shoulder bumped his, a silent encouragement to keep silent, to keep moving.

"What makes you think Tony Stark would even want you for an intern? You don't have the brains, the guts. Hell, you don't even have the looks to be seen with Stark."

They were almost to the front doors. Just a few more steps.

"Even if he did pick you as an intern, it'd probably just be because he wanted to save face and show that he cared about orphans or some shit. You'd just be a charity case, Parker."

That did it.

Peter did an abrupt about face causing the boy behind him to stop just as suddenly. Peter opened his mouth, fully intent on delivering a snarky retort that would've made Mr. Stark proud but, at the last second, thought better of it. He snapped his jaw shut with a click and spun on his heel to face the wooden double doors that led out to the front gates.

"Let's go, Ned," he muttered. Ned popped his umbrella open and shoved his way out into the wet, gusty afternoon. Peter unlatched the velcro on his own umbrella and followed his friend out. Suddenly, there was a familiar twinge right at the base of Peter's skull and no sooner had his feet hit the pavement than the handle of said umbrella was swiftly yanked out of his hand.

"Hey–"

"Thanks, lunkhead," Flash snickered as he walked backwards down the stairs. "Forgot mine in the library."

Peter flipped up the hood of his jacket, blinking rapidly to clear the rainwater out of his eyes. Ned extended his arm a little so that his umbrella covered the both of the them. "We can share mine. I'm sure my mom can you a ride home, that way you don't have to walk all the way to the subway."

Peter smiled over at his friend. What had he done to deserve him? "Nah, that's okay man. I'm going patrolling, remember? I'm going to get wet anyways."

"Yeah," Ned agreed, nodding solemnly. "Text me if anything interesting happens or if, ya know, you need help or something. Guy in the chair and all that."

"Yeah, I'll text you," Peter laughed. "See you tomorrow, man."

"See you!"

And with that, Peter and Ned took off in opposite directions; Ned towards his Mom's car and Peter towards the heart of the city. He kept his head bent against the wind carrying the sheets of rain aloft. He'd been out for less than ten minutes and already he was soaked. God, he couldn't wait to put the suit on and have Karen turn on the heater.

Oh, wait. Oh, shit. Oh, crap. _Seriously?_

Peter stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. A man, not paying attention to the teen's abrupt halt, bumped into Peter, causing both of them to stumble. "Sorry, sir!" Peter called as the man hurried away, muttering about 'youths'.

But Peter was too preoccupied by his thoughts to truly care about the man's feeling towards younger generations. He swung off his backpack and quickly unzipped the main compartment. He shoved aside the multitudes of notebooks and loose leaf graph paper, desperate to see the bottom of the bag. Even as he dug, he knew what he what he was looking for wasn't going to be there.

"Please, please, please, please, please…"

No suit. It wasn't there. But where was it?

Peter zipped his bag back up as the memory quickly resurfaced. He'd left it at the compound with Mr. Stark after patrol on Saturday. A mugger had torn through it with a knife and Mr. Stark had said he'd fix it over the weekend, but Peter hadn't been back to get it yet.

So here he was in the middle of Queens with no umbrella and no suit with which he could swing home in. Peter hung his head and sighed deeply. He slung his backpack back over his shoulder and started back the way he had come.

"Subway it is," he mumbled.

Stupid Flash.

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**_Tuesday_**

"Okay, Coach Wilson left me instructions saying that you guys are supposed to play dodgeball today."

Several groans rippled through the sea of sophomores at the substitute's words. Mr. Martin hadn't explained where Coach Wilson was, only that the man had placed his full confidence in his students to behave like saints for the substitute.

Yeah right. Like that was going to happen.

"So!" Mr. Martin clapped his hands together, "Team captains! Why don't we have…" He clicked his tongue rapidly as his eyes roamed the class. "You! What's your name?"

"Flash, sir."

More groans erupted.

"Alright, Flash, why don't we you have you as the captain of Team One and we'll have…what's your name?"

Peter raised his eyebrows at having been pointed out. "Who, me?" He asked, pointing a finger at his face. At Mr. Martin's nod, Peter quickly stammered out his name hating the fact that his voice rose an octave as he spoke.

"Mr. Parker will be captain of Team Two then. Alrighty then gentlemen, pick your teams."

It took less than five minutes to whittle down the sophomore class into two halves. "Excellent! If you will all take your sides, I'll grab the ball," exclaimed Mr. Martin as he scuttled away to do just that.

Peter retreated with his team to one side of the room as Flash and his team did the same on the opposite. He watched as Flash rolled his neck, shook out his arms, and jumped from foot to foot. Peter fought back the grimace itching to display itself on his face; Flash was taking this game way too seriously. It wasn't until Flash made eye-contact with Peter however that Peter realized just how seriously the boy was taking it.

"Mr. Martin?" Flash called, a suspicious glint in his eye that Peter didn't like at all.

"Yes, Flash?" Mr. Martin said returning with the ball and placing himself in the middle of the gym.

"I know you usually play dodgeball with one ball, but what if, just for today, we played a version where everyone gets a ball?"

Mr. Martin frowned and tucked the ball under his arm. He beckoned Flash toward him then turned and crooked a finger towards Peter.

The two teenagers strode across the court to meet the man in the center. "Mr. Martin," Peter began, "I don't think–"

"No one asked what you think, Parker," Flash interrupted snidely.

"Flash, this isn't the time for–"

"I don't know about this boys," Mr. Martin spoke up. Both boys fell silent. "Sounds like it would be quite chaotic if you ask me," he said, with a chuckle.

"It would be _fun_," Flash pleaded. "Think of all the great things Coach Wilson is going to hear about you when he gets back," he added, a winning smile plastered on his face. Peter's grimace finally fought its way to the surface. What a suck up.

"Mr. Martin, please," he spoke up, wiping the look off of his face. "I really don't think–"

"Alright, Captains," Mr. Martin nodded. "We'll give it a try."

Peter bit back a groan at the triumph practically oozing from Flash's pores. He spun on his heel and made his way back to his team as Mr. Martin called for everyone on Flash's team to grab a ball.

It's not that Peter hated dodgeball. It's just that he didn't find the idea of dodging projectiles for a game to be particularly fun. Dodgeball always made his Spidey-Sense go haywire. It was a whole fifty five minutes of ducking flying balls, flinging elbows, and flailing limbs. And he couldn't do it as Spider-Man. Oh ho ho no. He had to do it as Peter Parker.

Which meant allowing himself to be smacked by said flying balls, flinging elbows, and flailing limbs which he could practically feel coming moments before they struck. It was torture. And that was when they only had one ball to deal with. Now? With fifteen?

Peter was so screwed.

He placed himself in the middle of the group near the back, where he was partially shielded but not enough to where he couldn't see what was going on.

On Mr. Martin's whistle, all hell broke loose. Peter felt the familiar twinge at the base of his skull as the hairs on his arm stood to attention. He watched as the heavy red rubber balls flew through the air, smacking into their victims or sailing past as some just barely managed to evade them.

Peter dodged right a ball whizzed by his head, frowning as it passed. Headshots weren't allowed. He'd bet ten bucks he could you who had thrown that ball.

Mere seconds later, the return volley started. Peter, not having a ball of his own to throw, retreated farther into the group, giving his team a clear shot at their opponents.

He watched as a few people were tagged, but many of them remained in the game, Flash being one of them. Flash was quick to scoop up the rubber sphere and taking a few running steps forward launched it over at the opposing team.

The game went on and on until it was down to four people on Flash's team and only Peter was left standing on his.

Dear god why?

"You can do it, Peter!" Ned cheered from the bench. Peter snorted softly. Yeah, he _could_ do it, he just shouldn't do it. That would reveal _way_ too much. Just take it like a man, Pete.

Mr. Martin blew his whistle and that was it.

One ball caught Peter in the stomach, knocking all the air out of him. The second bounced off his shoulder. The third hit him dead center in the face with so much force it was sure to leave a mark. And the fourth hit him square on the cheek right as the third one fell away.

There was a sharp chorus of "_ooh_" from the bleachers behind him but Peter honestly couldn't have cared less. He doubled over, arms wrapped around his stomach as he wheezed against the sudden pain.

"Hey hey hey! No headshots! You four, head down to the Principle's office. I'll be there shortly. Peter? Peter, are you alright? God, I feel just awful. Peter, can you look at me please?"

Peter squinted up at Mr. Martin through watery eyes that had nothing at all to do with his emotions but everything to do with the pain blossoming across his face.

"Eeeyeah that's a broken nose for sure," Mr. Martin winced in sympathy at the crooked set of the nose and blood leaking down his student's face. "Uh, I need a volunteer to take Mr. Parker down to the nurse, please?"

Peter cupped his hand under his nose as he stood back to his full height. "I'll take him!" Ned scurried over to relieve Mr. Martin before the two exited the gym together. "Dude, why didn't you just dodge the freaking balls?" Ned hissed as soon as the were alone.

"You know why, Ned," Peter said thickly through the blood leaking down his throat as they quickly strode towards the nurse's office.

"Well yeah I know why, but couldn't have done at least a little something? Like even just a little tiny bit? Cause even a tiny bit would've been better than having a broken nose."

Peter rolled his eyes at his friend's reasoning. "It's fine, Ned. Besides it'll be healed by tomorrow morning anyway."

"Oh yeah," Ned breathed, sounding awestruck as always by his friend's superpowers.

"Oh crap."

"What?"

"I just remembered I have the internship after school today."

"And?"

"_And_ if my nose hasn't set enough or the bruise hasn't disappeared, Mr. Stark's going to ask me so many questions."

"Oh," Ned frowned, seeing Peter's side of the dilemma. "And you can't tell him the truth because…"

Peter rounded on Ned, eyebrows raised. "Because he'd freak out!" He flapped he free hand in the air, the other hand still collecting blood under his nose. "Do you have any idea what he'd do if I told him I got pushed around by a school bully?"

Ned was silent for a moment, staring up at the ceiling as they walked. "He'd probably kill Flash."

"He'd probably kill Flash," Peter echoed. "He can't ever know. This whole issue doesn't leave the building. Got it?"

Ned nodded instantly. "Got it. I wouldn't betray you, man. I'm better than that."

Peter sighed and elbowed Ned lightly. "Thanks, man. I owe you."

They walked in silence for a few more seconds until Ned spoke again. "But just know that if Flash ever disses Jimmy Neutron, I'm siccing Mr. Stark on him."

"… square deal."

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**_Wednesday_**

"Okay, I've got one, I've got one," Ned said excitedly, setting his sandwich down on the tray.

Peter took another bite of his apple as MJ quirked an eyebrow over the top of her book, trying her best not to look too invested in the conversation. Peter and Ned had been swapping bad science jokes the entire lunch period.

"A frog calls the psychic hotline. The psychic tells him, "You're going to meet a beautiful young girl who will want to know everything about you!" The frog is thrilled!" Ned narrates, leaning over the table with a mischievous glint in his eye. " "This is great! Will I meet her at a party?" The frog asks. "No," " Ned deadpans. " " You'll meet in her biology class." "

Peter chose the wrong second to take a sip from his water bottle. He snorted so hard that water instantly came flying out of his nose. MJ recoiled at the projectile as both Peter and Ned fell apart laughing at the stupid joke.

Once his coughing and laughing had subsided, Peter blew his nose in his napkin to rid it of any excess water before congratulating Ned on his excellent joke. "Dude, where did you hear that one?"

Ned shrugged with a grin as he resumed eating his lunch. "I think I read on it Tumblr or something. Pretty good right?"

Peter nodded as he finished off the last of his apple. "MJ," he asked around a mouthful of fruit, "do you have any science-y jokes?"

Michelle lowered her book slightly at the mention of her name. Her lip curled marginally as Peter continued to talk around his mouthful of food. "Okay number one: gross; I know how mastication works, I don't need to see it in progress, Parker."

Peter clamped his mouth shut and quickly swallowed the half-chewed food.

"And two: even if I did know any, why would I share them?"

Both boys shrugged in unison. "Because it's fun?" Ned supplied.

MJ squinted at the pair sitting across from her, both staring with wide imploring eyes. "Fine. I'll give you one."

The two boys exchanged a quick fist bump.

"What's the fastest way to determine the sex of a chromosome?"

Peter raised his eyebrows. "What?" He whispered.

"Pull down its genes."

And they were off again.

"Tha–That's so bad!" Ned wheezed.

"Why did I expect any better from you?" Peter giggled swiping at the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. MJ rolled her eyes but felt a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth nonetheless. Idiots.

Peter scooped all of his trash back onto his tray before swinging his legs off the bench.

"Where are you going?" MJ asked as she flipped the page of her book. Peter jerked his head towards the doorway as he picked up the tray. "I left my art portfolio for Mrs. Kramer's class in my locker. I've gotta leave a little early to go get it if I want to make it to class on time."

With a nod to each of his friends, he quickly hurried to dump his trash and deposited his tray on the return belt before exiting the cafeteria. He navigated his way through the familiar hallways towards his locker.

He spun the code without even thinking about it; muscle memory and all that. Just as he reached inside and pulled out a handful of colorful folders, his ears picked up an all too recognizable whiny voice.

"…like I specifically asked for 100% cotton and they dared to give me polyester? Yeah, I think not."

Peter quickly flicked through the set of folders, intent on grabbing his art portfolio and getting the hell out of dodge before Flash noticed he was there. Black was for math, blue was for chemistry, red was for history – aha! Green was for art.

The folders were unceremoniously stuffed back into the locker as Peter went to make his quick escape.

"What's up, Penis Parker?"

Well, that was Parker luck for you.

"Not in the mood, Flash," Peter tossed over his shoulder, quickening his steps as the bell rang out overhead.

His pace did nothing to deter the bully as Flash suddenly fell into step next to him. "Whatcha got there, Parker? That something for me?" He shot out a hand to snag the folder but Peter jerked it out of his reach.

"C'mon, Parker," Flash mock pouted. "Sharing is caring." He snatched again for the folder but, again, Peter held it out of his reach.

"Cut it out, Flash," he hissed. But that only seemed to spur Flash on. The entire walk to Mrs. Kramer's art room was like a game of Ninja. Reach, dodge, swat, swipe, duck, jump, grasp, slice, switch, recoil. Their hands were flying so fast it was a miracle no one's eye got poked.

Safety was within Peter's grasp. He was mere steps away from Mrs. Kramer's door. But Parker luck struck again.

There were much more students in the hallway now than there had been a few moments ago, all of them hurrying to their next class. There was a slam of a closing locker to Peter's right and someone backed up right into Peter. It was enough a bump to make him stumble, but that was all it took to break his concentration on the rhythm of keeping his folder safe.

There was a triumphant, "Ha!" as Flash finally managed to snatch the green folder from Peter's fingers. Peter flung his hand out, desperate to reclaim his work from the boy. "Flash, give it back!" He said, trying to keep the pleading note out of his voice.

Flash merely smirked at him as he ducked into Mrs. Kramer's room, Peter hot on his heels.

"Flash–"

"Gentlemen," rang out Mrs. Kramer's voice from where she stood in front of her desk. She raised an eyebrow at her last two students, one looking smug and the other flustered. "Take your seats, please." Flash hurried off to his seat in the back right of the room and instantly delved into the folder.

Let it be known that Peter Parker was not a tattletale. But given the circumstances, and the fact that he had absolutely no idea what Flash was planning on doing with his artwork– "Mrs. Kramer, Flash–"

"Your seat, please, Mr. Parker," Mrs. Kramer said firmly but not unkindly.

Peter stood in the front of the room for another moment before his legs finally carried him to his desk across from Ned.

"Dude, what's going on?" Ned whispered. Peter pressed his lips into a straight line and shook his head, staring resolutely forward. This was turning into a really crappy week and he was really ready for it to be done.

"Alright class, you've all been working very hard on your art projects for the last three weeks and I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate every effort that you have put forth. If you would all kindly turn in your portfolios to me please, we can begin our session for today."

Peter felt his stomach sink into his shoes.

As his classmates around his rummaged through their bags for their art portfolios, a whisper caught Peter's attention. "Hey. Hey, Penis! Parker!"

He craned his new around to stare deadpan at the bully as Flash waggled his eyebrows at him, holding Peter's green art folder aloft. "Thanks for this. It's sure to boost my grade before midterms. Not that I'd need it," he chuckled to himself.

Peter spun back around in his chair and closed his eyes. His jaw clenched as he struggled to even his breathing out through his nose. Light gusts of air tickled his cheeks as his classmates brushed past him to turn in their work.

Once he felt he finally had a firm grip on his anger, Peter pushed up from his desk and made his way up to Mrs. Kramer empty-handed, cursing himself for not putting his name on his work. Hadn't every school teacher he'd ever had drilled that into his head since kindergarten?

Mrs. Kramer automatically held open her palm as he approached, expecting to be handed a folder. But upon realizing that Peter didn't have one, she frowned. "Where's your work, Peter?"

Peter's eyes dropped down to floor as he scuffed his toe across the linoleum. "I– uh– I forg– I lo–I los– I lost it," he managed to spit out, still looking down.

When Mrs. Kramer's silence stretched longer than ten seconds however, he finally looked up. Her eyes were narrowed and her arms were now crossed across her chest. She cocked her head to the side as she stared at the teen in front of her.

"You lost it?"

Peter swallowed hard. "Mhmm." It came out so much higher than he had intended.

"I don't understand," Mrs. Kramer shook her head. She idly scratched her nose then reached around Peter to collect another portfolio from a student standing behind him. "Thank you, Eugene," she said dismissively.

Peter stiffened as she laid the 'missing' item in question on her desk. Dare he risk it? Was it worth the fight it would inevitably bring?

"Peter, I don't understand," she continued. "You've been working on this for three weeks. How could you just lost it?"

He blew out a sharp breath and shrugged, throwing up his hands. "I'm really sorry, Mrs. Kramer. It's probably somewhere in my room. I swear, I'll have it on Friday."

Mrs. Kramer gauged him for a second before sighing and nodding. "Alright, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to dock points from your grade, Peter. Lost or not, a due date's a due date."

Peter's hand unconsciously curled into a fist. He was going to kill, Flash. He could mess with Peter all he wanted, but messing with Peter's academics was another ball game entirely.

"I understand," he smiled. _'In two three four, out two three four,'_ he mentally coached himself as he slid back into his seat.

"Why don't we take a second to go through these?" Mrs. Kramer was resumed speaking to the class.

She pulled out a picture of a skyline that was two mediums put artfully spliced together. It was a combination of photography and watercolors. Peter felt his blood boil as Mrs. Kramer congratulated Flash on a job well done of '_his'_ use of shading and how well he had managed to match the shades of paint to the colors in the photograph.

"The shot of the skyline is simply beautiful, Flash. Where did you go to get such an incredible view?"

Peter scrubbed a hand over his eyes as Flash BS'd answer after answer.

He really needed this week to be over.

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**_Thursday_**

"Spider-Man totally saved my life once."

Ned quickly shot Peter a surreptitious look at the overheard comment behind them. Peter pulled his best sturgeon face and slowly shook his head back and forth. It was one thing for Flash to idolize Spider-Man and appreciate what he did for the city. It was another thing entirely to formulate a story about the web-slinger actually stepping in and saving the boy's life.

Peter tuned out Flash as the teen launched into some fakeass story about being robbed at gunpoint for the few classmates who were actually listening.

He instead turned his attention upwards and grimaced in sympathy as he watched Betty Brant attempt to hoist her petite form higher up the climbing rope. She'd made little more than halfway in just over five minutes.

"You can do it, Betty," he called up, flashing her a thumbs up and a smile as she looked down, a look of sheer agony painted across her features. Peter's bottom lip pulled down in a grimace, baring his lower teeth, as Betty resumed her gruesome ascent.

"Peter, are you going up next?" Ned asked, turning slightly from where he was holding the rope steady for Betty.

"Yeah," he nodded, finally looking away from Betty. "I've already had my running test thingy and my strength training, so once I do this, I'm done."

Coach Wilson had them doing the FitnessGram Pacer test today on top of their usual load of cruel crap. Peter didn't mind the physical exertion. It was just difficult having to exercise so much restraint all the time. Peter Parker couldn't do half of these things before the bite, therefore Peter Parker shouldn't do half of those things after the bite.

Peter's attention was drawn upwards again at the sudden _clang_ that signaled that Betty had reached the top of the rope and had rung the bell.

"Coming down!" Betty called. Ned kept a firm hand on the rope but stepped away so as not to be crushed below Betty as she slid down the rope.

She huffed slightly as her tennis shoes hit the floor, her cheeks bright red with exertion.

"Good job, Betty," Peter smiled at the smaller girl as she collected herself. She pulled her self up to her full height of five feet and three inches and smiled toothily up at him. "Thank you," she said primly before marching away to find her water bottle.

Ned jerked his head towards the now vacant rope. "Show me what you've got."

Peter rubbed his palms together as he stepped up to the rope. Before he'd even gotten a firm grip on the rope, Coach Wilson's whistle rang out sharply across the gym.

"Leeds, Jones, Brant, Taylor, Johnson, Brown!" He called over to the group by the climbing ropes. "You're up for the Gram Pacer. Let's go!"

Ned flashed Peter an apologetic frown. "Sorry, Peter."

Peter shook his head at the other boy. "Don't worry about it. You and I both know I don't really need the spot anyway," he added in a lowered voice. "You better go before Coach whistles at you again."

Once Ned had left to run in a death match against a stress inducing timer, Peter returned his attention to the rope in front of him.

He jumped up and latched onto the rope, instantly locking his feet into a sturdy position below him. Knowing momentum was key, he didn't hesitate to bend his knees up towards his chest and propel himself up higher on the rope. He repeated the motion a few times, not too fast, but not slow enough to the point where it was agonizingly slow.

At least not for him.

"C'mon, Parker, I don't have all day to wait for you to reach the top of that rope," Flash griped somewhere below him. Peter rolled his eyes as he paused for a second. He risked a glance down and saw that Flash the was standing at the base of the rope, hands planted firmly on his hips, looking thoroughly like an impatient soccer mom.

"Then why don't you use another rope, Flash?" Peter called down. "There's at least three others that are free." He stretched his hands up and hoisted himself up another few inches.

"Maybe I want to use this one," came the petty reply.

Peter shook his head but ultimately ignored him as he kept climbing. He was almost to the top. Just a few more pulls and – _clang_.

He was on his way down when it happened.

"Hurry it up, Penis. I said I don't have all day," Flash groused. Then suddenly, for some godforsaken reason, he seized the rope and gave it an almighty shake.

Peter often wondered what went on inside of Flash's head. What kind of thoughts were rattling around in there? What ideas spurred on the impulsive, devious, hate-filled boy that was Flash? Peter would've paid five dollars to know what _logical idea_ told Flash to shake the rope like that with a person attached to it at that very moment.

Now Peter had good reflexes. In fact they were excellent.

But there are some situations that not even your best reflexes can save you from.

This was one of them.

Peter completely lost his footing as Flash whipped the rope. Not once, but _twice_. The loss of footing caused him to slide down the rope quite fast with nothing but his hands and that _burned_ like _hell_.

He instinctually let go and suddenly he was free falling.

Until he wasn't.

Peter hit the floor with a solid _thud_. All the air in his lungs rushed out in an undignified _'hungh'. _Red and black spots danced across his vision as he stared up at the ceiling, listening to a high pitched whine echoing in his ears.

Faces suddenly began encroaching in his field of view. He felt someone rap their knuckles against his chest sharply as a voice that sounded as if it were coming from the bottom of a fishbowl was yelling at him to breathe.

Was he not?

Peter inhaled sharply and a few of the spots in his vision began to fade.

Guess he wasn't.

"Parker, can you hear me?" Coach Wilson said, his face no more than six inches from Peter's. Peter nodded slowly, the motion aggravating the pain starting to blossom in his head. "Don't move," continued the coach, "we've got an ambulance on the way."

"What?" Peter said, hating the way his voice squeaked. He quickly pushed himself up into a sitting position, Coach Wilson scrambling back to give him room. "No, I'm fine, Coach, really. I don't need an ambulance."

Coach Wilson looked skeptical as he visually assessed Peter. "You hit the ground pretty hard, kid. You might have a concussion or a broken back or something, I don't know. I'm not a doctor."

Peter shook his head, gritting his teeth against the massive headache he now had. "I'm fine, Coach Wilson, I swear. Just a little winded, I promise."

The coach still didn't look convinced. "Look at me, Parker," he commanded. He held up his right forefinger a foot from Peter's nose. "Follow my finger."

Coach Wilson moved his finger from side to side, up and down, closer to Peter's face and away from. Apparently satisfied with the teenager's visual tracking ability, he dropped his finger and asked, "What's your name?"

"Peter Parker."

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"Do you know where you are right now?"

"The school gym?"

"Was that a question?"

"No, sir."

Coach Wilson sighed a rubbed a hand over his head. "I don't feel good about this, but I think we can let you go without the ambulance."

Peter breathed out a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Coach." Coach Wilson stood and extended a hand down to Peter, heaving him to his feet. The man pulled out his clipboard from under his arm and scribbled something down on a piece of paper before he ripped it off and handed it to Peter.

"You start feeling off in any way, shape, or form, you turn that in to your teacher and go straight to the nurse," he explained. Peter looked down at the scrap of paper in his hand and saw that Coach had written him pass.

"I will," he nodded, giving the man a small smile. "Thank you, really."

Coach Wilson nodded back as he pulled his phone out of the pocket of his basketball shorts. "I'm going to go call about that ambulance. Thompson!" He called suddenly, making Peter jump. Peter looked over to where Flash was sulking next to the bleachers. What did he have to be upset about?

"Walk with me," the coach called, phone pressed against his ear. "Class dismissed!" He yelled over his shoulder as he and Flash headed for the door.

Just before they exited, Flash spun around and made direct eye contact with Peter. "You're dead," he mouthed, dragging his thumb across his throat. And with that, he was gone.

Peter sighed, long and hard.

Only one more day of school this week. He could make it.

––––––––––

**_Friday_**

Today was not Peter's day.

He'd started off the morning by over-sleeping thanks to not setting to his alarm last night. He'd come in abnormally late (or was it early) from patrol and had passed out on top of his comforter, still dressed in the Spider suit.

Peter had had only five minutes to get himself dressed and out the door on time if he was going make it to the subway on time to not miss his train. But, Parker luck being what it was, he'd made it to the station just as his train was pulling away.

Still, he'd made it to school only fifteen minutes late to first period and didn't get a detention, so that wasn't too bad. It was in second period that the next bad stroke of luck hit. Mr. Dell had asked them to pass forward their completed math homework.

When Peter had gone to hand his in, he'd found that his work wasn't in his bag. It was then that he remembered that it was still laying on his desk from where he had worked on it a few nights ago. Insert facepalm.

That had earned him a few points deducted from his grade.

During chemistry, the class had been split into pairs and been set a simple experiment of mixing Tollens reagent with a glucose solution to create a mirror effect within a flask. Or at least, that's what Peter had been doing. Peter's partner, Flash (because the universe hated him) had been doing something else entirely.

Instead of spending the class period fighting with his classmate about what he was supposed to be doing, Peter had left the boy to his own devices and focused on completing the experiment. But when had leaving Flash alone to create mischief ever been a good idea?

Due to the fact that he hadn't been paying close attention, Peter couldn't say for certain exactly what had happened at that chemistry table. All he knew was that one moment, he had been vigorously swirling the contents of his flask and the next his Spider-Sense was blaring and he had dove for cover underneath the desk, dragging the other boy down with him.

Someone had screamed as Flash's beaker had erupted, rocketing thick white foam up to the ceiling like Krakatoa itself manifested in the classroom of Midtown Tech.

"What did you do?" Peter had hissed as the hot foam cascaded down in front of them. Flash had just laughed as Mr. Cobbwell had rushed to calm the class and assess the situation.

"Relax, Parker," he had teased, stabbing a finger into Peter's cheek. "It's just elephant's toothpaste."

Yes, no one had been injured, but Mr. Cobbwell was not pleased. Not only was Flash assigned detention but Peter, somehow labeled as an accomplice to the whole mess, received detention as well.

Ned and MJ had tried to boost his mood during lunch but he had been to occupied with trying to finish his art project to pay them much attention. He knew he was being rude and he knew they didn't deserve to be ignored, but he really didn't feel like being yelled at by another teacher today. He'd make it up to his friends somehow this weekend. A movie night or something?

Peter had managed to turn in his art project without a hitch this time– thank small mercies – and was on his way to his last period when the universe decided to chuck him one more curveball, just for funsies.

Midtown Tech allowed for five minute passing periods between classes. Mrs. Kramer's room was only a few hallways over from where Peter's history class took place so he never needed to rush. On the way to history, he and Ned would always stop outside of Mr. Dell's room, the music room, and wait for MJ to emerge so they could all walk to history together.

Today was no different.

The girl was easy to spot as she stood a little taller than most of the students in the class, especially today with her curly hair pulled up in topknot at the crown of her head. "Let's go, losers," was all she said before stalking of in the direction of the history room.

"Hey, guys, I'm really sorry about lunch today," Peter said, tugging at his backpack straps as the walked.

Ned shrugged. "It's no big deal. You needed to finish your project. We get it."

Peter shook his head. "That doesn't give me a right to ignore you guys like that. So I was thinking maybe we could–" He stopped short as a sudden force shoved its way in between him and Ned, causing both boys to stumble.

Flash spun around, walking backwards from his new position in front of the trio and flipped them a double bird, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Peter's inner resolve to stay calm wasn't doing so hot right now. Everything that had happened today, every bad instance just seemed to keep stacking up against him. He wasn't usually one to stand up to Flash, but Peter had had enough. He'd taken enough crap from the other boy that week and this was just the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Dude, what's your deal?" Peter called to the other boy.

Flash placed a tented hand on his chest, having the gall to look affronted. "Pardon me, but you've obviously mistaken me for someone who gives a damn," he sneered in his haughtiest voice.

"I don't know what your problem is, _Eugene_, but I bet it's hard to pronounce." Hot anger was starting to bubble in Peter's stomach, a red flush creeping up and his throat and burning at the tips of his ears.

Peter watched as Flash's shoulders tensed at the use of his given name. "Why don't you shut your mouth when you're talking to me, Penis?" He spat, taking slow measured steps back down the hall to where the three friends stood frozen.

"Why don't you go play in traffic, Flash?" MJ chimed.

"Why don't you stop trying to be a smart ass when you're clearly just an ass?" Flash retorted, now only a few feet the other teens.

Peter stepped between the two as Michelle made to step toward the shorter boy. "You know, I'd like to see things from your point of view, but I can't seem to get my head that far up my ass. I mean, are you always this stupid? Or is today a special occasion?" he asked, cocking his head at the olive-skinned teen.

A breathy, humorless laugh escaped Flash's throat. "Why don't you do everyone a favor, Parker, and slip into something more comfortable… like a coma."

Peter kept his face neutral as he quickly countered. "Were you born on the highway? Because that's where most accidents happen?"

"If you really want to talk about mistakes, you should ask your parents. Oh wait!" Flash's lips pulled back in a very unbecoming sneer.

Peter was unaware that he'd even thrown the punch until Flash was suddenly clutching at his face, blood running through his cupped hands.

And suddenly it was an all out brawl.

He heard MJ shout at Ned to go and get a teacher as Flash tackled Peter to the ground.

Peter kept a tight rein on his supernatural strength, but didn't hold back on giving as good as his got as Flash lashed out with fists and elbows, knees and feet.

This was how Peter wound himself up slouched in one of the old red vinyl chairs in the school's office, a slowly softening sponge in a ziplock bag pressed against his cheekbone. Flash had been sent to the office as well, but Principal Morita had sent him to the nurse's office after seeing the state his nose. Plus, all the whining Flash did hadn't helped the situation either.

Peter had already worked out the details of his detention with Principal Morita twenty minutes ago and now was just waiting for the school's secretary to get into contact with his aunt so she could sign him out to go home.

He was more than ready to be done with this place for today.

"Peter?"

He tore his eyes away from the water spot he'd been staring at on the ceiling as the secretary called his name.

She offered him an apologetic smile once she had his attention. "I'm having some trouble getting ahold of your aunt. Is another number we could reach her by?"

Peter shook his head. May wasn't working today so there was no reason to call her office phone. She was planning on picking up Peter after school so they could try this new Italian restaurant that had opened a few weeks ago. His last period ended in just over an hour, but truth be told Peter wanted out of that building and he wanted out now.

He gave the secretary a different number and name, which she dialed immediately. The call was answered on the second ring.

–––––

Peter stepped out of the elevator and into the familiar space of Mr. Stark's workshop. He'd sent May a text that he'd had Happy pick him up from school and that he'd be home later so they could still go out for Italian.

"Pass me the 1/8," Mr. Stark's voice floated from somewhere across the room. Peter watched as Dum-E pinched a drill bit off the table and lowered it down to the floor to where Peter was assuming Mr. Stark was working on something.

"I said 1/8. This is 1/32," came the irritated voice.

Peter took pity on the poor robot and quickly made his way over to the table and plucked up the piece Mr. Stark was looking for. For his closer vantage point, he could now see Mr. Stark sitting criss-cross on the floor amidst a circle of wood planks and screws.

He passed the drill bit down the man, who took it without even looking up. "Thank you," he muttered, fitting it into drill. Peter set his backpack on the table as the man set about screwing together… whatever it was he was making.

The workshop was filled with no other sound than the high pitched whirring of the drill for a few minutes before Mr. Stark finally seemed to notice that there was another person in the lab.

"Oh hey, kid," he sniffed, flipping his safety goggles up on top of his head. "When did you get here?" He asked without looking up.

Peter shrugged, twisting a piece of wire around his fingers. "A few minutes ago."

"Oh. Sorry. Wanna help me with this? I'm making a table for– what the hell happened to you?!" Mr. Stark set down his drill, finally having caught sight of the bruises blooming on Peter's face.

Peter shrugged again. He really didn't want to get into it. "Nothing."

"Pete, do me a favor?"

At Peter's inquisitive look, Mr. Stark said, "Wipe your mouth, there's still a tiny bit of bullshit around your lips."

Peter huffed, tossing the wire back onto the table. He ran a hand through his already messed up hair, causing it to stick up in strange directions. "I got into a fight, okay?"

Tony squinted at him and leaned back on his hands. "You got in a fight? At school?" He took Peter's lack of response to be a yes. He sighed. "Alright, Pete, talk to me. You don't do school fights. What's going on?"

To be fair, Tony did ask, but he was not prepared for the verbal barrage that followed.

"I wasn't going to hit him I swear Mr. Stark but he's just been such a jerk to me all week with the dodgeball thing and the whole stealing my project business and I'm pretty sure he tried to kill me during gym and he still has May's umbrella and it's one of her favorite umbrellas and he always says such mean things to me and to Ned and to MJ and he made me lose points on my grade for not one but _two_ classes Mr. Stark and now I have to deal with two detentions and only _one_ of them is my fault and it's only because he made a joke about my parents being dead and he called MJ an ass and–"

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Mr. Stark scrambled to his feet, hands frantically waving back and forth to cut of the tirade. Peter stopped mid-rant, mouth still open, eyes wide. Eyes that, Tony was shocked to see, were brimming with tears.

"Take a breath, kiddo," He said soothingly, approaching the teen. Peter inhaled shakily and blew the breath out through pursed lips. "Who're you talking about?"

"Flash," Peter mumbled, staring resolutely down at the tabletop. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. I didn't mean to come here and blow up on you. It's just–" He paused to dig the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I've just had a really crappy week," he whispered, more to himself to the man standing next to him.

Tony really wished Pepper were here right at this moment. She'd be so much more equipped to handle this kind of situation. What're you supposed to do when a teenager cries and tells you that they just got into a fight with their school bully? It's not like Tony could just offer him drink. God, that'd be so irresponsible.

"What do want me to do, kid?" Better to just ask right? Peter was old enough to know verbalize what he needed at times like this.

The kid was the silent for a minute before he quickly swiped at any rogue tears that had managed to escape down his cheeks. "I just, um, I could…" He stammered bashfully. "I could kinda use a hug?" He managed at last, not meeting Tony's eyes. "You know what, never mind. I know you're not the touchy feely type of–"

His words were cut short as Mr. Stark pulled him in for tight hug. Peter was surprised that the man had actually obliged, but he wasted no time in reciprocating the gesture. He wrapped his arms around the man's back and dropped his forehead on his shoulder. Peter exhaled, feeling as if all the troubles of his horrible week were made irrelevant all of a sudden.

"Did you at least win the fight?" Mr. Stark asked after a few seconds.

Peter smiled into the man's shoulder, but didn't let go. "Damn straight."

He let out an involuntary squeak as Mr. Stark's grip around him suddenly tightened. "Watch your language."

"Yes, sir."

––––––––––

Let me know if you think this is worth continuing! If so, my next trope will be: Sleepy

Thanks for reading guys! Drop me a review if you've got the time!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited, I've decided to continue the story! Thank you all so much for your support for this story! This next chapter is quite a bit shorter than the last one (sorry). I'll try to do better for the next one! Enjoy!

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing! I make no profit off of this. This is solely for my enjoyment and hopefully for the enjoyment of others! ;)

** ––––––––––**

**Trope: Sleepy**

I Am Sleepy

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_Bzzt, bzzt._

Peter groaned as he yanked his pillow over, smushing over his ears in a desperate, but poor, attempt to block out the incessant buzzing of his phone.

His alarm had been steadily going off for close to five minutes now, his phone buried somewhere in the haphazardly discarded Spider-Man suit on the floor.

_Bzzt, bzzt._

He'd stayed out way past his curfew last night after school. The streets of Queens were hopping with petty crimes likes vandalism to larger scale felonies such as car theft. Peter had spent the night dishing out bad jokes and webbing up the cities baddies for the police until four in the morning when the city finally seemed to calm down enough for him to head home.

_Bzzt, bzzt._

May had called him at 11:15 last night when he still wasn't home yet. His curfew was 11:00 on school nights. He hadn't answered, due to the fact that he had been trying to sneak up on an ATM robber. He'd had Karen send the call to voicemail, knowing he was going to receive a verbal smackdown from May later.

_Bzzt, bzzt._

Keeping the pillow firmly clutched around his head, Peter log rolled to his left, tucking his legs up enough so they didn't catch on the ladder. As he rolled, the comforter and sheets on his bed came with him, slowing his descent, creating a strange sort of hammock that lowered him to the ground on his back. Peter blearily opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling as his alarm continued to buzz, goading him to get a move on.

He released the pillow smushed against his ears and flopped over onto his stomach, or rather he tried to. The blankets pulled taut around his legs and middle preventing him from fully executing the action. He flipped back onto his back and kicked at the bedclothes, trying to free his legs.

But that only served to ignite the fury of the blankets. They wrapped around him even tighter.

Peter bicycled his legs furiously. "Geroffame," he muttered, too preoccupied with the fight to notice the figure leaning against his now open doorway.

He huffed in triumph as he finally managed to shove the material off of his legs and lay spread eagle on the floor, collecting himself.

"That was dramatic."

Peter's head lolled sideways, a look of anguish painted over his features. "The struggle is real, May," he moaned. May snorted into her coffee mug as she fully stepped into the room. She squatted down next to the abandoned Spider suit and deftly fished out the vibrating device, quickly shutting it off.

With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it to the teen still lying on the floor. "You need to get moving. You're going to be late," May said, offering no sympathy to her nephew's predicament.

Peter sighed long and hard before heaving himself up off the floor, stumbling over to the closet to get dressed.

"And don't think we're not going to talk about what happened last night, mister," May called over her shoulder as she left.

"Love you, May!" Peter called as he yanked a t-shirt over his head. His yawned as he jumped his way into a pair of jeans and quickly stuffed his feet into his tennis shoes. He snatched his backpack up off the floor, shoving the Spider suit into the bottom before heading out in search of breakfast.

He stopped in the bathroom on his way to the kitchen, another yawn splitting his face. He brushed his teeth with half-lidded eyes, moving the toothbrush back and forth on muscle memory alone. The only thing that finally seemed to wake him up, if only a little, was the cool water from the tap as he bent down to wash his face.

Peter swiped the hand towel off the rack and sponged the water from his face. He blinked at the dispassionate expression he saw reflected at him in the mirror. A light frown across his features as he noticed he had managed to slip his shirt on backwards.

Nice one, Parker.

After turning his shirt the right way, Peter hurried to the kitchen and snagged a banana out of the bowl of fruit on the counter before heading for the door.

"Bye, May!" He tossed behind him as stepped out into the hallway.

––––––––––

"Is there a reason why you chose that look? Like are you trying to start a new fashion trend? Cause if you are, I just want you to know that I love and support you, but I won't be wearing that anytime soon."

Peter raised his head of his arms and blinked blearily up at Ned as his friend slid into the desk across from him. "Huh?" He said. Very intelligent.

Ned pointed down at Peter's feet. "Your shoes?"

Peter kicked both legs out straight in front of himself so he could see what Ned was talking about without having to bend and look under the desk. One foot sported a grey New Balance while the other was garbed in a red and white Vans. Peter groaned, letting his legs fall back onto the floor. This would explain all the strange looks and weird giggles from everyone in the hall this morning when he'd arrived.

"It's that kinda day," he sighed, earning a knowing nod from Ned.

"Dude, oh my god!" Ned flapped his hands excitedly. "Let me tell you about this _insane_ dream I had last night."

Peter sat up straighter and twisted in his seat, giving his friend his full attention. As Ned launched into an animated telling of his dream, Peter did his best to nod, laugh, and gasp in all the right places, but the whole time he felt the fog of sleep was persistently tugging at his consciousness. It made it hard to 100% present in the moment.

"Alright, class, let's focus, please," Mrs. Warren called to the room of chattering students as she strode into view.

Cindy Moon, who sat right in front of Peter, twisted around in her chair as their teacher started taking attendance. "I like your shoes, Peter," she giggled before spinning back around to face the board.

Peter bit back a sigh as he flipped open his notebook and dated the page. He absentmindedly disassembled his pen as Mrs. Warren continued to call out names, only looking up when she reached Michelle's name and was met with silence. Peter frowned and leaned forward to see past Ned and found that MJ's desk was, indeed, empty.

He surreptitiously reached out a hand and poked his friend's arm across the aisle. Ned leaned towards him but didn't take his eyes off the teacher. "Where's MJ?" Peter whispered.

Ned shrugged, shaking his head a little. "Maybe she's sick or something? Did she text– here!– Did she text you?"

Peter yanked his phone out of his pocket, noticing Ned do the same across the aisle, and checked it under his desk. There weren't any new messages. He frowned. It wasn't like MJ to skip class, and whenever she missed she always said something to let them know she wasn't dead.

Peter fired off a quick text. _Where are you?_

"Peter!" Ned hissed. Peter glanced over to see Ned's lips pressed into tight line as he jerked his head towards the front of the room. Peter snapped his head to face forward so fast his neck cracked. "Here!" He squeaked.

An eyebrow was climbing Mrs. Warren's forehead, but she didn't comment on the boy's behavior.

She finished attendance and wasted no time diving into her lesson. Peter sandwiched his phone between his legs for easy access in case MJ texted back in the middle of class. He needn't have worried. The entirety seventy five minutes dragged by painfully slow without anything to break the monotony other than Sally Avril explosively sneezing ten minutes into class.

If Peter had been struggling to stay awake before class, it was nothing compared to how he felt during the lecture. He wasn't sure when his eyelids had become neodymium magnets, but they had become near impossible to keep apart as Mrs. Warren intoned on and on about Coulomb's law.

His head felt like it weighed about forty pounds and the effort of keeping it sitting upright on his shoulders was a losing battle. His pen mindlessly scrawled across the page in an effort to appear engaged, his subconscious knowing he'd need to have this information later.

By the time the lesson had let out, Peter felt as if someone had thrown a weighted blanket over him. The thought of heaving his body out of his chair was physically exhausting. He groaned and let his head hinge back as he mentally prepared himself.

He swiped his notebook and pen off his desk and shoved them back into his bag. He clicked on his phone again, checking for a message from MJ but knowing there wasn't going to be one.

"C'mon, man," Ned urged. "We're going to be late for math."

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

––––––––––

"Hey." MJ snapped her fingers in front of Peter's nose, making the teen start and blink dazedly. "Did you hear a word I just said?"

A sheepish grin broke over Peter's face. "Sorry?" He winced, grabbing for his water bottle and taking a sip. "Could you repeat it?" He said once he had swallowed.

MJ rolled her eyes but obliged. "I said, can I copy your notes from first and second period? I would ask Leeds here but we all know I can barely read that perversion of letters he calls handwriting."

Ned very maturely stuck out his tongue across the table at the girl who, in turn, flipped him the bird.

"Yeah, sure. Where were you anyways? You never said." Peter reached under the table to grab his notes from his bag. He flipped to the correct page in the physics book and instantly felt a flush of embarrassment burn his ears. "Uhm…you're probably better off using Ned's notes…" He grimaced.

"Why?" MJ leaned sideways to see what Peter was looking at and snorted at what she saw.

Peter's notes, if you could even call them that, consisted of nothing more than loopy black scribbles that curved on and off the lines, occasionally crossed or dotted for effect. Peter slapped a hand over his eyes at the few random written words thrown into the mix such as "trickle", "desired", and "swanky".

Why the hell "swanky" would've come up in a physics lesson, Peter couldn't remember.

"Ned, give me your notes," MJ said, shaking her head.

Peter dropped his head down on top of his notebook. Maybe if he could power nap for five minutes during lunch he'd make it through the rest of today just fine. No sooner had he closed his eyes than his phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. He left his head on the table as he fished it out, turning his head to the side slightly to read the message.

It was from May. _I have to stay late at work. Stark's driver is picking you up. Love you._

Peter quickly typed out his response. _K. Love you too. _

He dropped the phone down on the tabletop and bit back a groan. Don't misunderstand, he always enjoyed hanging out with Mr. Stark. But Mr. Stark was always on the move, always into something. Peter couldn't remember a time when he'd seen Mr. Stark be still of his own volition. In fact, seeing Mr. Stark still was usually pretty scary.

Peter didn't know if he had the energy required to be in the billionaire's presence today…

Maybe the power nap would help.

––––––––––

"A lens that causes light rays to spread out or diverge. Flash?"

"Converging lens."

"That is incorrect. Charlie?"

"Diverging lens. The answer was basically in the question, dumbass."

"Language, Charles," Mr. Harrington chimed in reprovingly.

MJ switched cards, ignoring Mr. Harrington's comment as she said, "Correct. What is the distance from the lens to its focal point?"

Ned reached out and tapped the bell. "The focal length," he asserted. MJ nodded her approval before moving on.

"Okay, last one for today. Give me the definition of Snell's Law." Her words were met with silence. "Come on, guys," she moaned. "We did this one last week. Anybody want to try?" Everyone was doing their very best to avoid her eyes as she looked around the table. Her eyes narrowed as they fell on one person in particular who had barely contributed during practice.

"Peter? Do you want to try?" She called down the table. Everyone's heads swiveled to stare at the silent member, the reason for his quietude becoming apparent very quick.

Peter's head was propped up on his hand, turned towards MJ, bearing some semblance that he had been paying attention at some point during the last hour, but his eyes were closed and his face serene, very obviously asleep.

"Ned, will you…?" MJ gestured to the teen's sleeping form. But Flash was moving before Ned even had a chance. He lunged across the table and smacked Peter's arm out from under the boy's chin, sending his head down onto the tabletop with a loud _thwack_.

The whole of the decathlon team recoiled with a collective gasp of "Ooh!" as Peter's head snapped back up, a dazed expression replacing the one of serenity. He slowly reached up and rubbed at the spot on his forehead where it had collided with the table.

"What was the question?" He mumbled.

"Uh, definition of Snell's Law?" MJ said, recovering her composure.

"The equation relating the angle of incidence and the angle of refraction. N1 x sin theta 1 = N2 x sin theta 2. The greater the refractive index, the more the light wave will bend toward the normal. When entering a medium with a lower index of refraction, it bends away from the normal," Peter rattled off, not pausing to take a breath.

MJ set down her card and bobbed her head as Peter finished. "Right. Okay, guys. Same time on Wednesday. Good work team."

Mr. Harrington raised his voice over the sound of zipping backpacks and shuffling feet. "I'll have details about our upcoming meet on Wednesday as well. Have a good evening guys!"

Ned and MJ lagged behind the group as Peter struggled to get one of his arms into his jacket. The pair watched him wrestle with the material for a minute before MJ finally took pity on him and reached into the inside-out sleeve and pulled it the right way out, holding it there so the teen could slip his arm inside.

"Thanks," he muttered once the article was finally on. MJ hummed in response and the trio made their way out into the hall. "Hey, I'm really sorry about falling asleep during practice," Peter said, looking across Ned to MJ. She shrugged, occupied with pulling something out of her backpack.

"Whatever," she said, producing a careworn book from her bag. "Just leave the slacking to Flash in the future, 'kay?" She smirked.

Peter smiled back and the group fell back into silence. As they walked towards the front doors, Peter felt his mind began to drift as his vision took on a weird hazy look. Distantly, he could hear Ned saying something, but he couldn't find it in himself to tune back into to reality to figure out what it was.

He was just _so_ _tired_.

Every step he took felt like he was dragging his legs through peanut butter and he wanted nothing more than to just collapse boneless onto his bed and sleep for fifty years. But who knew when he was going to make it back to his bed? He'd settle for collapsing right here on the school's floor!

But ugh that was gross. Who knew what kind of germs were festering down there? Turns out, Peter was about to find out first hand for suddenly, quite literally out of the blue, he found himself being tackled to the ground by his best friend. He yelped and threw out an arm to stop their descent.

"Ned, what the hell?!" He squawked, rolling away from the other teen and getting to his knees.

"What are you losers doing?" MJ sounded as confused as Peter felt.

"Just uh you know, it's been a second since we've wrestled, right, Peter? I thought I'd try out the old sneak attack. You know what I'm saying? It felt like the right moment." Ned giggled nervously. Peter's jaw dropped as he stared stupidly at his friend. Nobody broke the silence for a few moments.

"Oookay." MJ shook her head and returned to her book, walking the last few steps to the door. "Later bitches," she called as she disappeared through the door.

"Okay, dude, seriously? _What the hell?_" Peter hissed.

"You were on the wall!" Ned hissed back, scrambling to his feet.

"What?" Peter's eyes widened. Ned nodded frantically.

"You must've zoned out or something but you just started walking up the wall! I panicked! I didn't know what to do!"

"So you tackled me?!" Peter whisper shouted, hating how his voice cracked.

"Would you rather she have found out?"

Peter was silent for a second before he conceded with a nod. "Okay, fair point. Do you think she saw?" He said, jerking his head towards the door as he got to his feet. Ned looked uneasy but shook his head. "She was pretty deep in her book, man. I don't think she saw you."

Peter ran a hand through his hair and released a slow breath. "Right," he muttered. "Thanks, man."

Ned nodded back, a smirk creeping over his face. "Guy in the chair."

––––––––––

May had lied to Peter. In her message, she had said that Mr. Stark's driver was picking Peter up from school. That meant Happy. So when Peter slid in the backseat of the black Audi with his usual greeting of, "Hey, Happy," he was not expecting Tony Stark to whip around in the driver's seat and give the teen a premature myocardial infarction.

"Do you mind getting in the front? You sitting back there is giving me Driving Miss Daisy vibes, and as handsome and talented as we both know I am, I'm no Morgan Freeman."

Peter scrambled out of the backseat and into the passenger seat in a matter of seconds, leaving his backpack in the rear. "Mr. Stark, what're you doing here?" He asked as he buckled his seatbelt. "I thought Happy was picking me up."

Once Peter was buckled, the car pulled away from the curb and into the late afternoon traffic. "Happy's busy interviewing new security for one of the new additions to the Compound," was Tony's simple explanation.

"New additions? I thought you weren't building those for another two years?" Peter's brows pinched together as he stared at the man.

Mr. Stark shook his head. "Plans changed. Constructions's starting next year for one of the new wings, but we're going to wait on adding on the second hangar until we can more efficiently calculate how often we're going to be using the Quinjet we already have. See what I was thinking…"

Peter felt his eyes beginning to glaze over again as Mr. Stark continued to talk about the renovations and plans for the Compound. The man carried on for at least fifteen minutes. Peter blinked furiously, trying his hardest to stay engaged in the conversation. He mhmm-ed and oh-ed, nodding along. He vaguely heard himself mumble, "That'll look nice," as his chin dropped down onto his chest.

It barely registered in his mind that Mr. Stark had stopped talking until the man was calling out to him. "Kid?"

"…"

"Kid?"

"…hm."

"Peter!"

Peter's head jerked up with a snort, eyes frantically darting around to find the source of the noise. He glanced briefly over at the man in the driver's seat, noticing his vague look of concern. "You're going to get a crick in your neck if you sleep like that," Tony said, turning his eyes back to the road. "You get any sleep last night?" He said after a long pause.

The teen rubbed his eyes, trying to rid them of them dry, cottony feeling they get after being left open for too long. "Yeah. A little bit," he exhaled.

"Uh huh. Define a little bit."

Peter turned his head to look out the window. "It was like three hours. I'm good."

There was a beat of silence as Mr. Stark processed this. "And how much sleep did you get yesterday?"

Peter ducked his head suddenly and fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. "I'm fine," he mumbled.

Mr. Stark clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Not what I asked."

There was silence in the car as Peter continued to fidget with the mechanism. Once it became evident that Peter wasn't going to answer without further prompting, Mr. Stark sighed and spoke again. "Peter–"

"I didn't, okay! I didn't go to bed that night," he burst out, tapping one hand nervously against this thigh. "I'm sorry," Peter said quickly. "I didn't mean to shout, it's just that… I'm just really tired."

Mr. Stark snorted as he steered the car onto the highway. "Yeah, go figure. Aren't teenagers supposed to get like seven hours of sleep, minimum?"

Peter sighed, leaning his head against the head rest as Mr. Stark stole a glance at him. "Why don't you close your eyes for a few minutes, kid? I'll wake you once we're there." Peter wanted to protest, but the temptation of finally being able to close his eyes and just rest for a moment was too strong.

"Thanks, Mr. Stark."

––––––––––

True to his word, Mr. Stark shook Peter awake once they'd reached their destination. Peter had groggily climbed out of the car, only remembering that he'd left his backpack once they were in the elevator. He stared at the smooth white elevator doors through half-lidded eyes, swaying lightly on his feet.

Mr. Stark led Peter forward as the doors slid open to reveal one of the private floors. Peter stumbled slightly, tripping over his mismatched shoes as the pair headed towards the common area.

"FRIDAY, do me a favor and cue up _Friends_ for me, would you? Volume at 30%." The tv mounted on the wall switched on with the requested show loading as Tony deposited the exhausted teen on the couch.

"Stay," Mr. Stark commanded, pointing a strict finger at Peter, eyebrows raised in challenge. Peter raised his hands in surrender, content to just sit and watch the show. Mr. Stark disappeared for fifteen minutes; most of the episode was over the time he returned.

In his arms he carried an outrageously fluffy white blanket that he had produced from god knows where. Peter lifted his head off the back of the couch as the man approached.

"Oh no, Mr. Stark, you don't have to–"

But apparently he did. "Stand up," the man demanded, not unkindly as he shook out the blanket.

Peter stayed sitting for a second but as Mr. Stark's eyebrows began to climb towards his hairline, he shoved himself up off the couch. The man swiftly threw the blanket around Peter's form, making sure it looped around the back of his head as well until he'd made Peter into a blanket burrito. Peter was surprised to find that the blanket was pleasantly warm, like really warm.

Did Mr. Stark have a blanket warmer?

"How did you–"

"Whenever I had trouble sleeping as kid, my mom would put my blanket in the dryer for me," Mr. Stark said, always one step ahead of Peter. "Put me out like a light." He nudged Peter back towards the couch until the teen was sitting down again, then he squatted down and tugged off the boy's shoes.

Peter mulled over Tony's words, knowing it was a big deal for the man to voluntarily talk about his parents.

"Up you go," Mr. Stark grunted, swinging Peter's legs up onto the couch so that Peter was forced to lay down. He hugged the blanket closer to himself, cherishing the soothing warmth but almost hating how much sleepier it made him feel.

The couch dipped next to his head as Tony dropped down on the sofa next to him. Wiggling his head out of the blanket a little, Peter peeked up at the man. "You're staying?"

Mr. Stark threw an arm over the back of the couch as he looked down at the figure swallowed by the oversized blanket. He couldn't help the smile that broke over his face as he took in the sleepy brown eyes and mussed brown curls. "Yeah, kid. I'm staying."

A drowsy smile stole over the teen's mouth before he turned his attention back to the tv. The two were silent for a moment before Peter unexpectedly wiggled his way closer to Tony until his head was resting on the man's lap. Tony froze, not knowing how to react.

He let instinct take over and removed his hand from the back of the couch, instead placing it on top of the kid's head. He slowly moved back the blanket until his hands found the kid's hair and let his fingers run gently through the bed of curls. Within seconds of this, Peter's breathing had evened out into deeper breaths, signifying that the teen had fallen asleep at last.

Tony sighed, his fingers still absentmindedly running through the boy's hair, listening to a laugh track play on the tv.

Looks like he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He didn't mind at all.

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Let me know what you thought! Up next: May's Abusive Boyfriend

Thanks for reading guys! Drop me a review if you've got the time!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited! This is the last chapter; sorry it took me a while to get it uploaded. Please enjoy!

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing! I make no profit off of this. This is solely for my enjoyment and hopefully for the enjoyment of others! ;)

**WARNING:** Contains abuse of a minor!

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**Trope: May's Abusive Boyfriend**

I Want Protection

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"What's he smell like?"

"What's he _smell_ like? _Why_ does that matter?"

Tony shrugged. "It doesn't," he said as he dried his hands on the hand towel, a smirk playing around his lips. "I'm just curious."

Peter's mouth hung open stupidly for a second before he shook his head, deciding to humor his mentor. "I want to say woodsy?" He gave a shrug of his own. "I think he said he said he was a handyman or something; I don't really remember."

He spun back and forth slightly on the bar stool as Mr. Stark disappeared behind the counter before reappearing with a cutting board in hand.

Mr. Stark grabbed an onion out of the pile of ingredients he'd set aside and began deftly stripping away its outer skin. "Okay, so he smells 'woodsy' and you know he's a handyman," he said, dropping the onion skin into the trash. "What else do you know?"

Peter squinted up at the ceiling as he thought back to earlier that day.

Over the past couple weeks, May had been hinting about some guy at work that had been flirting with her. Just the little things like stopping by her desk to make conversation or always going to the water cooler at the same time. When Peter had asked if she had been flirting back, May had just flipped her hair and waggled her eyebrows.

That was answer enough.

Tonight was her first date with the man and May had made arrangements with Mr. Stark to bring her nephew over for dinner. She knew Peter would've been fine at home by himself, but she knew the boy had a tendency to worry about her, especially when it came to dating people Peter didn't know.

She'd made sure that Peter at least got to meet her date before they'd left for dinner.

Wayne Pierce was an affable looking man who stood at least six foot. He had a full head of thick dark hair only disrupted by the touch of grey at his widow's peak. Peter had noticed that his front teeth overlapped when the man had smiled in a way that didn't quite reach his eyes.

May had still been getting ready when Wayne had shown up at the apartment, a bouquet of lilies held aloft. They'd made the usual adult-teenager small talk while May finished up: how old Peter was, where he went to school, what did Wayne do, did he like his job, etc. As they talked, Peter felt a familiar buzz at that base of his skull. It was small, but persistent.

He had looked around, searching for anything that might turn into a threat but had come up with nothing. It was weird. His Spidey-Sense had never been wrong before. He had no reason not to trust it but there was quite literally nothing that was going to put him or Wayne in immediate danger.

When May had finally emerged, it had been a quarter to seven. She pressed a kiss to Peter's forehead and promised to be home by ten. "Do your homework! Love you!" She had called as she slipped out the door.

It was not half past seven and Peter had only completed one problem of his physics homework. Mr. Stark continued to measure out ingredients for the chili he was making for dinner as Peter spun his pencil between his fingers.

"Um, I know he doesn't have any kids," Peter mused, watching as Mr. Stark dumped the ground beef into the pot with the onion. "He's worked as a handyman thirty five years."

Mr. Stark began to viciously stab at the meat and onions in the pot with a wooden spoon, a look of intense concentration on his face. "None of those things are bad things," he said with a grunt, giving the beef a particularly savage thrust.

"Well…no," Peter said reluctantly. "I just…I don't know." He was silent for a moment as scratched out an answer to another problem on his homework page. "I just have a bad feeling about him. Like, when he was there," he set his pencil down and leaned his elbows on the countertop, "my Spidey-Sense was going off. It was weird."

Mr. Stark brandished the spoon at him, flinging pieces of chopped onion, and raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure it wasn't because of something going on outside?"

Peter thought about if for a second because, no, he wasn't sure. Childishly, he kinda just wanted to blame Wayne for it. "No," he said finally, picking up his pencil. "But if it was something happening that close by the sensation would've been stronger." He tapped his pencil against the granite.

"Maybe it was warning you about something that was going to happen later?" Mr. Stark said as he tossed in the bowlful of carefully measured spices.

Peter shook his head and flipped to the next page in his textbook. "It doesn't tell the future, Mr. Stark. That's not how it works."

Mr. Stark just hummed noncommittally as he focused his attention on opening a can of tomato paste. "Well maybe your little sense-thingy was wrong," he said as he spooned out the red paste over the stove. Peter's hand stopped in the middle of his equation. Inwardly, he knew that that couldn't be true. His Spidey-Sense had never been wrong. It had never lied to him, never led him astray.

Had it?

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Peter squinted in the bright Saturday sunlight, propped on his elbows with his legs extended in front of him. He and MJ had ventured to the park to study for an upcoming history test; Ned was stuck inside with the stomach bug. Peter closed his eyes and let his head fall back, enjoying the feeling of the noonday sun warming his skin as the sounds of passersby rang out around him.

The two high schoolers had studied for the better part of the morning and had only just stopped to eat the lunch they packed. MJ had brought out her sketchbook as she munched her way through a bag of goldfish crackers. Peter relaxed all the way onto his back on the grass and popped another grape in to his mouth.

They ate quietly for a few minutes until two sets of delicate footsteps approached them. Peter cracked open an eye and, upon seeing who it was, pushed himself up onto his hands.

Two little girls who couldn't have been more than six or seven were inching towards the teenagers with timid smiles on their faces.

"Hi," Peter said, a smile of his own popping up. MJ looked up from her sketchbook, eyebrows pinched together against the glaring sun.

One of the girls giggled and suddenly rushed forward, dropping something in Peter's lap. The other girl did the same to MJ before the pair raced away in the flurry of brightly colored clothing and flying feet.

Peter pulled a what-was-that face at MJ as he reached down to grab the object. He couldn't help the chuckle of his own as he found that he'd been gifted a daisy chain. Looking over, he saw MJ had been given one too. He immediately settled his over his head, smiling unabashedly as MJ snorted.

"Aren't you going to put yours on?" He asked, pointing to where she had laid hers next to her bag. MJ just quirked an eyebrow in lieu of an answer before returning to her drawing.

But the next time Peter looked over, he was glad to see it perched amidst the girl's curls. He let his eyes roam the park, catching a few joggers here and there, an old man sitting on the bench people watching, two mothers sitting on a picnic blanket talking loudly about some affair one of their coworkers was having. Peter watched as the two little girls who had made his and MJ's flower crowns flopped onto the picnic blanket with their hands full of more flowers, most likely to make new crowns for more strangers.

Peter smiled. Ah, the unhindered joy of children.

He plucked another grape out his bag as he suddenly heard his name being called. "Hey, Peter!"

Peter's head swiveled to find the source. He recognized the voice, but only vaguely. It called again. "Peter!" MJ poked him in the arm and pointed towards his left, helping him locate the man coming towards him with his hand raised in greeting.

Peter quickly got to his feet as the man neared. "Hey, Mr. Pierce," he stuck out his hand for the man to shake. "How're you doing?"

Whereas he had been dressed in a suit the last time Peter had seen him, today Wayne Pierce was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and black t-shirt. He shook Peter's hand once and let go quickly, as if touching the boy's hand caused him discomfort. "I'm just fine," he said, smiling his perfunctory smile. "Who's this?" He said, gesturing to MJ, who hadn't made any effort to move.

"Oh, this is my friend Michelle. MJ, this is Wayne Pierce," Peter said simply.

MJ looked up and gave the man a desultory upward jerk of her head, immediately turning back to her artwork.

"Well, it's nice to meet you MJ," Wayne said, nodding back. Peter winced at the unwarranted use of the girl's nickname. MJ's head came up quickly this time. "It's Michelle," she deadpanned, expression steely.

Wayne blinked twice, stunned by the girl's sudden change in demeanor. "Right," he said, finally. "Sorry." It sounded as if he couldn't have cared less. "Peter, I'm actually on my way to your apartment right now. Why don't you walk with me." It wasn't a question.

Peter glanced down at MJ, nonverbally asking if she was okay with him cutting their study date short. She shrugged, signaling she didn't care but raised an eyebrow in return, silently asking him if that's what he wanted. Peter quirked his mouth to the side and he offered a one-shouldered shrug. It didn't seem like he really had a choice. Besides, it would give him a chance to find out more about this guy May was going out with.

"Yeah, let me just grab my stuff really quick," he said at last, realizing he'd left Wayne hanging for a little longer than was socially appropriate. He quickly stuffed the last of his lunch in to his backpack, zipping it closed and swinging it over his back. Wayne stood watching with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his expression unreadable. Peter bade MJ a hurried goodbye before setting off at a brisk walk across the park with the other man by his side.

"So, how do you and _Michelle_ know each other?" Wayne asked after a few moments of silence. Peter glanced up at the man, surprised at the biting note in his voice.

"Um we go to school together." Peter hooked his thumbs around the straps of his backpack.

Wayne hummed, taking a few more strides before verbalizing his next question. "Is she in your grade?"

Peter ducked his head in a nod. "Yeah, yeah, we're in the same–"

"Say 'yes' not 'yeah'," Wayne interjected primly as if he were a teacher correcting a student. "Stand up straight when you're talking to me. And take that ridiculous thing off your head while you're at it."

Peter felt his eyes widen comically. His steps faltered briefly as he stared up at the man walking beside him, waiting for the "Gotcha!" moment that never came. Wayne was being completely and totally 100% serious. Peter scrambled to catch up with the man, whipping off the crown of flowers he'd already forgotten he was wearing.

As he drew level with Wayne, he made sure to keep his back ramrod straight and held his head high on his shoulders.

"Anyway," Wayne said, tossing Peter a gelid smile. "You were saying? About Michelle?"

"…That we're in the same grade?" Peter's voice was small. He didn't much feel like talking any more. The low buzzing at the base of his skull was back but there still didn't seem to be any threat or hazard nearby that Peter could see.

"Let me tell you something about me, Peter," Wayne sighed as he led them through the park's gates and out onto the city's sidewalk. "You know I don't have kids. We've already gone over that."

Peter nodded as he sidestepped a kid whizzing by on a skateboard.

"I'm going to tell you why, plain and simple. I don't have children because I don't like children, Peter. They whine, they're messy, and they're needy. Don't like 'em. But I will tell you what I do like."

Peter jumped as the man suddenly slung an arm around the teen's shoulders. "I like your aunt, Peter, I like her a lot." Peter cringed internally. He didn't need to know that. That information didn't need to be shared.

"And I know she cares about you very much, I can see that. I swear she didn't shut up about you last night. So though I may not enjoy interacting with children, it's evident to me that I'm going to need your vote of approval to make this relationship work."

Peter swallowed heavily as the pair drew to a step at a crosswalk. "So… what? You want me to put in a good word for you to May? Is that what you're saying?"

"No." Wayne's arm was heavy on Peter's shoulders as he stepped into the crossing as the light changed. "I'm saying that I already have a 'good word' in, I simply need you to enforce it. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

The buzzing at the base of Peter's skull was escalating into a strange zinging sensation, racing up and down his limbs. Peter frowned as the man's words sunk in. "Why should I do that for you? I barely know you." He wanted so badly to pull himself out from under the man's arm but something in the back of his mind told him that would be a bad idea. "Don't you think May deserves to make these decisions for herself?"

Wayne emitted a humorless chuckle as the two turned the corner. "Of course she does, Peter. And she'll absolutely have the freedom to make whatever choice she desires. All I'm saying is that if this goes south and I learn that it had something to do with you, I will personally make sure that you get your comeuppance."

The words were delivered as if Wayne was simply talking about nothing more than the weather, finding the topic boring and repetitive. But the sudden death grip on Peter's arm conveyed a different message entirely.

"You understanding me, Peter?"

"…Yes."

"Say, 'Yes, sir'."

"Yes, sir."

––––––––––

Peter set his fork down on his tray, freeing his hand up to retrieve his phone from his pocket as it buzzed suddenly.

He frowned at the message displayed on the screen from May. Two words: _Call me._

Peter tried not to think the worst as he hit the speed-dial for May's number. Was something wrong? Did something happen to her? Oh god, what if someone had found out he was Spider-Man and was holding her at gunpoint? What if–

She picked up on the second ring.

_"__Hey, sweetie! There's been a–"_

Oh god. "May, are you okay? What's wrong? Where are you?" Peter fought to keep the tremble out of his voice, but this was his aunt for Christ's sake.

Ned and MJ both looked up from their lunches at his fearful tone. "Peter, what's going on?" Ned asked, concern furrowing his brow. Peter shook his head and swung his leg over the bench, stumbling away from the table.

_"__What?"_ May's voice was confused. _"Nothing's wrong, honey,"_ she said, perplexed. _"What made you think that?"_

Peter closed his eyes and let his chin fall onto his chest as relief swept through him. "Nothing," he sighed. He turned back to his friends, who were still watching him with wary expressions, and flashed them a thumbs up. "What's up?"

_"__There's been a change of plans for this evening," _May went on, though she sounded slightly skeptical. _"I know I said this morning that we'd go out for pizza, but how do you feel about Wayne coming over tonight instead? He wants to make us dinner. Isn't that sweet?"_

Peter gagged silently, thankful that May couldn't see his face. "Yeah, that's really nice of him," he said.

_"__Anyway, he gets off work before I do but he'd make it to the apartment about the same time you would after school. I told him he might have to sit for a few minutes until you get there but it shouldn't be too long. Are you okay waiting with him until I get back?"_

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes clenched tight as he fought back the urge to groan aloud.

_"__You don't have to talk to him the whole time! Just make at least a little effort? He'll be cooking for the most part so you don't have to entertain him or anything. Can you do that, Peter? For me, please?"_

Argh why did she have to play that card? Whenever Peter was being stubborn or irrational (according to May, at least) all she had to do was beg with the timid little, "for me?" and Peter would cave and do whatever it was she was asking. This time was no different. "Alright, fine," Peter sighed. He could practically hear his aunt's grin through the phone. "But only because you asked nicely.

_"__I love you, sweetie. I'll see you at six, okay?"_

"Love you, too."

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It was half past four when Peter mounted the final flight of stairs to his and May's apartment landing. The elevator had gone out earlier that week, but he didn't mind the extra bit of exercise. It was a little more inconvenient to the elderly who lived on their floor. Peter often found himself helping the fragile men and women up and down the stairs as they made their way back to their respectable apartments.

Peter spun his keys absentmindedly on his forefinger, head bopping slightly to the tune playing in his earbuds. As he rounded the corner to their apartment, he noticed a tall figure leaning against the wall, a brown paper grocery bag held loosely in one arm.

The man looked up as Peter neared. Peter yanked his earbuds out of his ears and let them hang down the front of his shirt. "Hey, Mr. Pierce," he said with a smile he didn't mean. "How's it going?"

Wayne didn't bother returning the smile. "Peter," was all he said in way of greeting. "You're late. Your aunt said you'd be back by 3:30." He checked his watch. "That was an hour ago."

Peter twisted the key ring in his hand nervously. "Yeah I uh I got held up at school so I missed my train back." He ducked his head, breaking away from the intense glare the man was casting down. "Sorry, you had to wait…"

"Posture, Peter," Wayne snapped.

Peter's back snapped up straight and he quickly turned and faced the door, cheeks puffing out and eyes widening as he gave an imperceptible shake of his head. As he unlocked the door, he couldn't help but think what a long night this was going to be.

_'__Hurry home, May,' _he thought to himself as he tossed his keys in the bowl on the counter. He took out his phone and paused his music that was still going as Wayne set his bag next to the stove and began unloading its contents.

Peter pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, choosing the one that was the farthest away from Wayne but still facing the man so Peter could watch what he was doing. The kitchen was silent for a few minutes as Peter rewrote his notes for history, trying to get the information to stick in his brain before the upcoming test.

"Are you going to show me where you keep your pots and pans or do I have to rummage around for myself?"

Peter pulled his nose of his textbook at the irritated tone. Wayne stood next to the stove, hands planted firmly on his hips, a looking as tetchy as Peter could get out. Peter hurried out of his chair and opened one of the lower cabinets next to the stove. "There you go," he said, stepping out of the way.

He returned to his schoolwork, hearing the familiar clang of metal on metal as Wayne set one of the pans on the stovetop. The stove let out a serious of beeps as Wayne went about preheating it, pressing multiple buttons and grunting in frustration as he hit the wrong ones.

May's words rang in Peter's head, pleading with him to make an effort with her beau. Peter looked up, watching the man's face start to glow red in his frustration. Peter suppressed a sigh and pushed back from the table again, making his way back over to the stove.

"What temp do you want it?" He asked, voice light as he reached out a hand to assist. He snatched it back in surprise, however, when it was delivered a sharp smack to the back of it. It wasn't the kind of swat that he got sometimes from May when he tried to sneak a cookie off the cooling rack when they weren't quite cool yet.

Those swats didn't hurt. Those were delivered with a teasing laugh and an exasperated shake of the head. This was not. This was deliberate. This hurt.

Peter stepped back in shock, his hand still fisted against his chest. Wayne wasn't paying him any attention though. He'd finally won his battle with the stove and had gotten the correct temperature input; the degree slowly began to tick up as in the internal temperature began to rise.

"I don't need your help," Wayne said simply, stepping past Peter and picking up a package of tofu. Nonplussed, Peter backed away and dropped back in his chair at the table, mindlessly thumbing at the reddening skin on his hand.

Maybe Wayne hadn't meant to do it so harshly. Yeah, that had to be it.

How wrong he was.

Peter picked up his pencil and scribbled down more notes for the next thirty minutes, putting the hand swatting incident out of his mind as he focused on memorizing the authors of the Federalist Papers.

He dropped his pencil on the table, drawing his shoulder blades together in a stretch, relieving himself from the hunched over position he'd been in for half an hour. He leaned his chair back on two legs, noticing that Wayne wasn't anywhere in sight. Peter frowned and stood up to look at what the man was preparing.

The timer on the stove was counting down steadily with about ten minutes left and when Peter hit the internal light for the oven, he could see strips of tofu baking a sheet. There was a small saucepan that contained a brown spicy smelling sauce simmering softly on the back burner. On the front right eye, a pot of rice noodles was boiling much too closely to the rim to be safe.

Peter quickly grabbed a potholder to grip the edge of the pot with one hand and with the other he turned down the heat.

Two things happened at once. One, the water receded and the noodles continued to cook without danger of leaping over the side and into the flame. Two, a presence appeared at Peter's elbow with an abruptness that made Peter's heart jump into his throat.

"What're you doing?" The man asked, but not only had Peter's heart jumped, his body had jumped too. With his hand still on the pot of noodles.

He leaped back from the stove, his grip still firmly on the handle. He released it with a yelp, scrambling away as the scalding liquid and half-cocked pasta splashed onto the floor. Wayne shuffled away quickly as the water seeped across the floor towards his shoes.

Neither male moved for a moment, both taking in what had just happened. Peter's jaw hung open as he blinked in disbelief at the mess on the floor. He rotated slowly towards the room's other occupant. "Mr. Pierce, I am so–"

_Crack!_

Peter stumbled sideways slightly as the man forcefully backhanded across the face. Peter's hand, still covered by the oven-mitt, came up to grasp his smarting cheek. He stared at the man in astonishment. "Did you just _hit_ me?"

"Look what you did!" Wayne shouted, throwing an arm out towards the overturned pot on the floor. "Did you do this on purpose? Huh?" He yelled, marching towards the teen. Peter scrambled away as the man advanced, but Wayne was faster. He snatched the front of Peter's shirt and dragged him in close.

Peter reared back as far as he could, not particularly enjoying the feeling of the man's hot breath on his face.

"Answer me!" Wayne shouted, giving Peter a shake. Peter grunted and clasped his hands around the man's wrist. "No," he said, tugging at the man's grip. Peter was more than strong enough to break Wayne's grasp, but something in his brain told him that that wasn't going to be a good idea.

And that wasn't coming from the part of his brain that was dedicated to keeping his identity a secret. That was coming from the part of his brain that prioritized self-preservation. He didn't know how Wayne was going to react if Peter broke out of his grip. He was already volatile enough as it was; Peter's best chance was to just do what the man said and hope for the best.

"Get over here." Wayne all but dragged the boy over the mess on the floor, throwing him down in it. Peter hissed as the steaming water soaked through the knees of his jeans and burned his unprotected palm as he fell.

His Spidey-Sense went off a split second before the kick connected with Peter's chest. He bit back a cry of pain as he brought one arm over his chest quickly in a reflex response. But Wayne wasn't finished.

He lashed out with this foot again, this time planting it in Peter's abdomen. Peter's arm folded underneath him, dropping him onto his elbow. He collapsed onto his shoulder and rolled onto his back as he coughed from the force of the kick, eyes screwed shut in pain.

"Look at me, Peter," Wayne huffed above him.

But Peter was too focused on taking shallow breaths to combat the throbbing in his abdomen. He should've known better than to ignore the already incensed man. Wayne took a knee beside Peter and drove an open palm across his face.

Peter's head snapped sideways for the second time that night, but Wayne quickly took his chin in a brutal grip, forcing Peter to face him. Peter's eyes were wide as the man towered over him, eyes alight with an icy wrath that sent a shiver down Peter's spine.

"When I tell you to stay out of my business, I mean–" Wayne leaned down and put his face less than a foot from Peter's, pulling the teen's head of the floor, "–_stay out of my business._" He released Peter's face with a shove, making the boy's head collide with the floor with a _thud_. Wayne pushed up from the floor and disappeared from Peter's eyeline.

Peter didn't move, either too stunned or too scared to react. He flinched as a something was hurled in his direction. He snagged it out of the air and realized it was nothing but a dish towel.

"Clean up your mess. I'm going to the grocery store to replace what you wasted."

Peter listened as Wayne took the pan out of the oven, turned the oven off, and grabbed his keys off the counter. It was only after the door had closed that Peter dared to get up. He sat silently on the floor, processing everything that had just happened.

As he absentmindedly mopped up the water and noodles, Peter wrestled with ideas of what he should do. Because he had to do something. And he wasn't thinking about it selfishly, he was thinking solely about May. If this guy had no problem raising his hand to a teenager, what would stop him from harming an adult?

But how was Peter supposed to tell her? Hey May, your boyfriend hit me. You need to break up with him. She'd go ballistic. Not to mention Wayne had already threatened Peter in the park the other day about what would happen if things didn't work out between him and May and Peter had anything to do with it.

God, this was a mess.

Regardless of how it turned out for him, Peter couldn't let his aunt date a psychopath like Pierce. He just couldn't. Spider-Man could take a hit, but so help him, if anybody ever laid so much as a finger on May…

He dumped the last handful of noodles in the trash when it came to him. Suddenly and obviously, and he wondered why it hadn't been his first thought.

Peter snatched his keys out of the bowl dashed into his room. He put on the red and blue suit faster than he'd ever put it on in his life. He slipped the mask over his head and slapped the spider on his chest, wincing as it coincided with the spot where Wayne had kicked him.

"Hello, Peter," rang Karen's voice as the display in his mask quickly booted up. "Where are we going tonight?"

"Hey, Karen," Peter said, throwing open his window and, after making sure no passerby were watching, latching onto the brick outside. He slid the window shut and quickly scurried up to the top of the building. "We're going to see Mr. Stark."

––––––––––

Peter scaled down the side of the Compound wall, thanking whoever designed the building for adding so many windows that made it easy for Peter to see who was on what floor. He stopped, upside down, and stared into the living space of the private floor Mr. Stark was normally found on, but the only person he could see was the War Machine.

He was sitting on the couch flipping through a magazine that he barely looked interested in. He glanced up periodically at the television playing the evening news, but it didn't seem to be holding his interest either.

Peter rapped his knuckles against the glass, alerting the man to his presence. The colonel looked up, his face a picture of surprise. He pushed off the sofa, mouthing something up to the ceiling as he made his way over the window. The man must've told FRIDAY to open the window for Peter for the glass panel suddenly tilted open wide enough for the teen to slide through.

Peter slipped in and dropped to the ground, immediately tearing off his mask.

"Hey, Colonel Rhodes," he said. He instinctively stuck out his right hand then quickly switched to his left when he remembered the raw skin from the burn.

"How's it going, Pete?" If Rhodes thought the hand switch was weird, he kept it to himself as he shook the teen's hand. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Peter nervously bunched his mask in his hands as his eyes flicked past the man. "Um, is Mr. Stark here? I kinda need to talk to him."

Rhodey shook his head with a frown, taking in the kid's anxious behavior. He looked like a scared rabbit. "No. He and Pepper went out for dinner or something I think. He won't be back till later." He took another step towards the teen. "Peter, is everything okay?" He asked as Peter's breathing kicked up a notch.

Peter shoved a shaky hand through his hair. "I– yes. I mean, no. I don't–" He dropped his mask as both hands gripped at his hair, eyes clenched shut as he inhaled sharply through his nose.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Rhodey raised his hands placatingly but didn't touch the boy. "Take it easy, Pete. I'm going to need you to calm down," he said, keeping his voice low and calm. Peter opened his eyes, but didn't let his hands down. "How 'bout we sit?"

The kid was still breathing too fast for Rhodey's liking but at least he was listening. Peter slowly sank to his knees then settled on his hip. Rhodey took a little longer getting down but he still made it in the end, crouching down as far as he could in the bulky braces in front of the teen.

"Need to… talk… to Mr. Stark," Peter gasped out. Rhodey nodded, keeping eye contact with Peter.

"Okay. Tell you what," Rhodey pulled his phone from his pocket, "I'll call Tony if you can slow your breathing down. Can you do that for me?"

Peter nodded frenetically, desperate for the reward of talking to his mentor. As the colonel dialed his friend's number, Peter covered his face with his hands and went through the mantra May had taught him after Ben's death when Peter had had what felt like a panic attack a day.

_In two three four, out two three four._

"Hey, Tones…Yes, that sounds lovely…Yeah, I know, I'm sorry, but this is kind of important…"

_In two three four, out two three four._

"Peter showed up here looking for you…Physically, yes. But right now he's coming down from a panic attack…I know, Tony. The only way I could get him to calm down is if I promised to call you… Yeah, he's right here. Peter?"

Peter pulled his trembling hands away from his face and reached out to grab the phone. "Mr. Stark?" He said, hating the way his voice shook.

_"__Hey, Spiderbaby."_

Peter could've cried with relief at hearing the man's voice. "Mr. Stark," he whispered, not sure what he was going to say next.

_"__You know where you're at?"_

Peter nodded, forgetting the man couldn't see him. "Yeah," he said finally.

_"__Good. How many fingers you got?"_

Peter looked down and wiggled the fingers of his right hand wrapped in red then slightly flexed the ones holding the phone. "Ten," he murmured.

_"__Good job, kid. What color shirt is Rhodey is wearing?"_

Glancing at the older man, Peter whispered, "It's white, red, and black."

_"__Three colors? Hmm… Oh! Is it that one that says something about not being an asshole?"_

"Yeah. How'd you know?" Peter smiled as he heard Mr. Stark laugh on the other end.

_"__Pep, Rhodes is finally wearing that shirt I got him for Christmas that one year… No, not that one, although that's a perfectly good one as well. You feeling better, Pete?" _Tony directed his voice back into the phone.

Peter passed a hand over his face, watching as Rhodey sat down across from him, no longer worried that the teen was going to pass out from hyperventilation. "Yeah, I'm good. Sorry," he said embarrassed that he'd just freaked out in front of not one, but two of his childhood heroes.

Rhodey just shook his head as Mr. Stark's voice came through the phone. _"Don't apologize, kid. I'll be back in twenty minutes. You good hanging with Rhodey or do you need me to stay on the phone?"_

"No, I'm good," Peter said quickly. He'd already ruined his and Ms. Pott's date and now the man was coming back. He didn't have the right to ask for anything else.

_"__Alright. Call me if me if you need something between now and then. See you in a bit."_

––––––––––

Spider suit discarded, Peter tugged at the hem of his sweatshirt, nestled on the couch between Pepper and Rhodey. Tony sat on the ottoman in front of him, a patient look on his face.

"Alright, Pete, lay it on us," Mr. Stark said, propping his elbows on his knees, fingers loosely laced together. "What's going on?"

Peter twisted the black fabric around his hands, unsure of where to start. "Um…" He started, keeping his eyes downcast at the fabric he was busy bunching. "You know that guy I was telling you about? The one May's dating?"

His eyes flicked up to find Mr. Stark's and saw the man's expression darken slightly, as if already expecting the worst. "Uh huh," was all he said.

Pepper shifted next to him slightly, resting one arm on the back of the sofa and bending it so that the side of her face rested on her palm. "Go on," she encouraged.

"Remember how I said he gave me a bad feeling?"

"Yeah?" Mr. Stark prompted.

Peter signed shakily, not sure of how to phrase his next statement in a way that wouldn't send Mr. Stark zooming across the city to bust down the door of the Parkers' apartment where Wayne and May were most likely still having dinner.

"Well he… he kinda…" He shifted uncomfortably under the stares of the three adults. Any way you spun it, it was going to sound bad.

"Pete, you're scaring me," Mr. Stark said with a breathy laugh, but there was no humor in his voice.

"What did he do, sweetie?" Pepper's voice was soft, unthreatening. "Did he touch you?"

Peter felt Rhodey stiffen beside him and heard Mr. Stark mutter a curse. "No! No, no, no! He didn't…no, not that. God." He buried his face in his hands for the second time that evening.

"Did he hurt, Peter?" Pepper continued. "Did he hit you?"

The silence that hung in the air was palpable. Peter kept his face buried as he finally nodded, not wanting to see anyone's reactions as the truth came out.

Another curse spilled out of Mr. Stark's mouth as Pepper looped her arm around the boy's shoulders. "How long?" Mr. Stark asked, forcing calm into his voice.

Peter let his hands fall away from his face, but couldn't bring himself to look up at his mentor. "Just today. I'm fine, I swear. I didn't mean to bother you guys with this or be a burden, I just need–"

"Peter, look at me." Mr. Stark's voice was sharp, but he wasn't angry. At least not at Peter. The teenager lifted his gaze to meet the other man's and almost flinched back at the sheer intensity he saw there. "You are _not_ bothering us. I think I speak for all of us when I say that I'm glad you trust us enough to tell us what happened. But don't you ever– and I mean _ever_– call yourself a burden again. Do you hear me? You mean way too much to us to ever label yourself like that."

Tony's words were spoken aggressively, but anyone that was listening could hear that the words were filled with genuine affection for the kid sitting on the couch, looking way to small in that two sizes too big sweatshirt.

Peter swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat. Why did he suddenly feel like crying?

He could only nod as Pepper gave him a light squeeze, arm still around his shoulders and Rhodey patted his knee comfortingly.

"Um." He sniffed trying, and failing, to discretely wipe his eyes. "Mr. Stark, I'm really worried about May. They're supposed to be on a date right now, but it's the first time they've been alone together when they're not in public and I'm really worried about her 'cause I was stupid and I left her there alone with him and I didn't even warn her about what he's like and 'cause if she broke up with him and it was my fault then he– oh god what if–"

"Stop it!"

Peter gasped, eyes wide as Mr. Stark threw out his hands.

"Let me take care of it," Mr. Stark said soothingly. "Breathe, buddy."

Peter inhaled and exhaled slowly.

"What's this about them breaking up and it being your fault?" Rhodey piped up, playing back the rant in his head.

Peter cracked his knuckles nervously. "Oh um, well basically he kinda threatened that if he and May ever broke up and it had anything to do with me, he was going to come after me…" He trailed off at the dumbfounded looks on the two men's faces.

"What a douchebag," Rhodes mumbled.

"I'm gonna kill 'im," Tony said, pushing up from the ottoman. Peter scrambled up after him and followed the man out of the room.

"Wait, wait! You can't kill him!" Peter yelped, voice climbing a few octaves. Mr. Stark snorted as he continued to walk.

"Relax, Pete. I'm not actually going to kill him." He pressed the down button on the elevator and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets as he waited for it to arrive. "But I am going to deal with the clown who thought he could lay a hand on my kid and get a way with it."

He stepped into the elevator as the doors slid open. Peter stepped in behind him blindly, mind still hanging on Mr. Stark's last statement.

My kid.

Mr. Stark thought of Peter as his own.

Something big and warm fluttered in Peter's stomach, making him duck his head as a stupid grin started to spread across his face. He couldn't control it, not that he was trying very hard.

The elevator deposited them in the garage, the lights blinking on row by row as the pair stepped out. Peter almost had to run to keep up with Mr. Stark's fast-paced stride as the man made a beeline for his silver Audi, ducking inside and starting the engine quickly.

"Where's this date taking place?" Mr. Stark said, pulling out a pair of purple tinted shades from the glovebox even thought it was nearing seven pm.

"Our apartment," Peter supplied, securing his seatbelt. And not a moment too soon. Mr. Stark hit the gas with his famous lead foot and they flew out of the garage and into the busy streets.

––––––––––

Tony had made Peter stay in the car while he went up to the apartment to deal with Wayne. And while Peter had argued that he needed to be there in case the man tried to go after May, Mr. Stark had held strong.

Peter drummed his fingers nervously on his thigh, glancing every few seconds out the window, waiting for Wayne to come out the front door. He couldn't see their apartment windows from this side of the street so he had absolutely no idea what was going on upstairs.

He chewed on his lower lip and ran his fingers over his right palm, feeling the new skin that had already healed over the damaged cells. He dropped his hand back into his lap with a sigh, his head falling back against the headrest.

The door of the apartment complex was thrown open. Peter sat up straight in his seat as Wayne stumbled backwards down the steps. Mr. Stark was standing in the doorway, his expression stony.

"Screw you, Stark!" Wayne shouted, almost barreling over a young lady walking behind him. "You have no right!"

"Vaffanculo a chi t'e morto," Mr. Stark retorted with a fake smile on his face, blowing the man a kiss.

Wayne spun on his heel and stomped off down the street, shoving his way through the foot traffic without apologies.

Mr. Stark gestured to Peter, signaling that it was finally safe for him to emerge from the vehicle. Peter wasted no time in unbuckling his seatbelt and popping open the door. He raced up the steps followed Mr. Stark inside. "Is May okay?" He asked hastily.

"Your aunt's fine," Mr. Stark said, clapping a hand on the teen's shoulder.

Peter sighed. "Thank you, Mr. Stark," he said sincerely. They climbed the stairs in silence before Peter turned a quizzical gaze up at his mentor. "I didn't know you spoke any other languages. I mean, I guess it comes it handy when you own a company. What was that? Italian?"

A devious smirk touched Mr. Stark's mouth as he quirked an eyebrow down at the teen. "To answer you question, yes, it was Italian, but no, I don't speak it. I can only swear in it."

Peter rolled his eyes, shaking his head. Classic Tony Stark.

He pushed open the door to his apartment and was immediately assaulted by a set of arms thrown around his body that squeezed him so tight he actually squeaked.

"May, I–"

"Oh, Peter, honey, I'm so sorry!" She pulled back, placing one hand on either side of his face and instantly smothering every inch of bare skin on his face that wasn't covered.

"May–" Peter couldn't help but giggle. "I'm okay, really. It's not your fault," he said once she pulled away. His heart broke a little as he saw that her face was streaked with tears.

"Ugh, that is it!" She swiped her glasses off her face and wiped the tears off her cheeks only for them to be instantly replaced. "I'm done dating. I'm never dating again. I'm swearing off men!" She sniffed heavily, a wretched look tearing over her face as she smoothed a thumb over Peter's cheek.

"Are you sure you're okay, honey? You're not lying to me?" Her chest stuttered as she hiccuped, a wrench of guilt twisting in her heart.

Peter stepped forward and wrapped his aunt in another hug. He dropped his head onto her shoulder briefly before picking it up and giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I'm fine, May. Promise," he whispered. He gave her one last squeeze before stepping back. "You should go get a tissue. You're a mess," he said jokingly.

May swatted at his arm, but left anyways, still sniffling the whole way down the hall to the bathroom.

"You sure you're okay, kid?" Came a voice from behind him.

Peter had almost forgotten Mr. Stark was there. He turned around and saw his mentor leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. Peter nodded slowly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Thank you, Mr. Stark. Seriously." He made direct eye contact with the man, trying to convey every emotion of gratitude he was feeling. Peter couldn't imagine he would've done if Wayne had done anything to May.

Mr. Stark seemed to understand. "Anytime, kid." He pushed off the doorframe as he inhaled deeply. He gave Peter a sharp nod of understanding.

Peter scratched at the back of his neck as a thought arose in his mind. "Hey, Mr. Stark?" At the man's hummed reply, Peter pressed on. "Do you think I could maybe kinda sorta might could have another one of those hugs from before?" He glanced up sheepishly.

Tony snorted at the kid's antics but didn't deny his request. He held out his arms and Peter wasted no time stepping into them, wrapping his arms around the man. He buried his head against his mentor's chest and just breathed.

Mr. Stark rubbed a small circle on Peter's back, chin resting on top of the kid's head. "You good?" He said, not willing to moving back until the teen was done.

Peter nodded against him. "I'm good," he said, tightening his hold.

They stood in silence, enjoying the comfort of the embrace. The silence was broken by May's sudden return.

"Oh, great," she mumbled, spotting the two hugging in the doorway. "Now I'm crying again."

Peter laughed and extended one of his arms. Tony rolled his eyes, but ultimately followed suit. May stepped over and wrapped her arms around both of them.

And there they stayed, a little misfit family of three, content to hold each other together and simply soak in one another's presence.

"Can we get pizza?" Peter mumbled.

…

"Pizza sounds nice," May agreed.

"I like pizza," Tony seconded.

"Pizza it is," Peter smiled.

––––––––––

{_Vaffanculo a chi t'e morto_: Go fuck your dead family members}

That's the end!

Thanks for reading guys! Drop me a review if you've got the time!

P.S If you liked this story, go check out the sequel **I Won't, I Tried, I Can't. **


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